Carol

As it starts to feel really good, I find myself thinking that I underestimated him, back in line at the corner store. This skinny kid, a SoCal 7 at best, isn't too bad of a lay.

Not amazing.

But not bad.

An open mind and an adroit tongue will get you far in this world.

I'm close. When I feel it starting to break, I try not to make a big production about it, but I can see in Sheryl's face that there's no mystery about what's happening to me.

I clench everything, squeeze his wrists extra hard, and let the orgasm spread through me. I grind his mouth a little through a layer of pubic hair that's slick with saliva and my own cum.

When it's gone, I sit there, a few moments more, letting my weight rest a little more heavily on his face. Whether to reward him or punish him, I'm not sure.

Once I feel steady again, I climb off. I glance at him. His face is shiny; his eyes are on another planet.

I think Sheryl has him close. Little noises in the back of his throat are turning into high, resonant vocalizations.

I place the Santa hat on his head.

It's a little awkward, with him lying down, but I do my best. It mostly ends up over his face.

He's breathing heavily now. His thigh muscles are locked--he'sdefinitely close. We have seconds.

"Take the condom off," I whisper.

Sheryl quickly unrolls the condom and tosses it aside.

Presciently, she angles his cock towards him, right as the first rope of cum lurches out. It arcs from the head of his penis towards his chin, landing in a long tendril on his chest and collarbone.

Sheryl keeps jerking him--more ropes. She turns his chest and belly into a Jackson Pollock painting. Some of it gets on his throat and jaw.

We give him a minute. Sheryl slows down; his cock begins to wilt. The tip of it weeps its last into the curls of his own thick pubic hair.

Once his body relaxes and his breathing becomes more regular, I snatch the Santa hat from his sweating face. He gives me a hazy, drunken look. It isn't quite gratitude, but it's something like it.

"You've got five minutes to collect yourself," I say, "then you have to get up."

Sheryl and I get dressed in the clothes we started in.

Once his five minutes are up, Ty asks us where the bathroom is. Sheryl gives me a look, and I nod.

I point at his clothes.

"Just put your shirt on over it," I say. "You can wipe the visible parts with your underwear."

He does as he's told without a fuss. He must be used to it by now.

In the kitchen, we serve him cold coffee from the fridge while he sets up a rideshare.

For his sake, I hope he doesn't have a girlfriend or a wife waiting for him at home. Though his shirt hides the splatters of cum, anyone could tell at a glance that he just had sex.

As the sun sets behind the palm trees, we bid Ty a happy holiday. He shambles down the front walk like a man wrung out, and climbs gingerly into the backseat of his ride. It bears him off into the night.

Sheryl and I shower together. Then we curl up on our bed, naked on top of the covers, our bodies still drying in the air. I snuggle up behind her, spooning her with a hand draped over her tummy.

It seems like she's fallen asleep already, until I hear her murmur:

"You didn't pick up my real gift in time, right? He wasn't supposed to be my present."

"Hell no," I say, "He's just some dickhead I picked up at the corner store."

She laughs. "I figured. We'll grab my actual gift when the shop opens after Christmas."

Then, after a moment, she says, "Nice save, though."

"Thanks," I say.

Then, hesitantly, I add, "I also got us the phone number of this cute cashier..."

~THE END~

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- The Author